Via Negativa

January 13, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cold seasoning

In the morning we all went to church, and sat in the pew belonging to us, where a cold sermon of a young man that never had preached before. Here Commissioner Pett came with his wife and daughters, the eldest being his wife’s daughter is a very comely black woman. So to the Globe to dinner, and then with Commissioner Pett to his lodgings there (which he hath for the present while he is building the King’s yacht, which will be a pretty thing, and much beyond the Dutchman’s), and from thence with him and his wife and daughter-in-law by coach to Greenwich Church, where a good sermon, a fine church, and a great company of handsome women. After sermon to Deptford again; where, at the Commissioner’s and the Globe, we staid long. And so I to Mr. Davis’s to bed again. But no sooner in bed, but we had an alarm, and so we rose: and the Comptroller comes into the Yard to us; and seamen of all the ships present repair to us, and there we armed with every one a handspike, with which they were as fierce as could be. At last we hear that it was only five or six men that did ride through the guard in the town, without stopping to the guard that was there; and, some say, shot at them. But all being quiet there, we caused the seamen to go on board again: And so we all to bed (after I had sat awhile with Mr. Davis in his study, which is filled with good books and some very good song books) I likewise to bed.

in the cold you reach
beyond any rose

hips and hands
ride without stopping

quiet on a bed
filled with song

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 13 January 1660/61.

January 13, 2024January 11, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Variation and Fugue

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Her friends who have toddlers around the same
age exclaim in wonder at how rapidly they're learning

language—more cereal, no, cuddle, reading! Sometimes
when she looks at them she's reminded of when she  

was a young mother, learning to love her new mother-
body even as she poured herself out to her children. 

She's grateful they don't regard her as merely an older 
woman who now and again stands outside looking at the moon 

while the fig tree wraps its arms around her. How does one 
regard the future as more than the approach of a limit, 

more than the place of reckoning (joy and heartbreak, 
reproach and remorse)? In this life there's so much we owe. 

But what is life if not spent the way we weep unabashed, 
the way we give until even the crumbs fill the mouths of birds?

January 12, 2024January 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Chionophile

a connoisseur of oblivion
i begin with small omissions

goodbye to the twigs of my fingers
farewell to the far in my feet

my neglected face goes feral
till i’m lost in a forest of fur

closer and closer to the color of snow
as i grow colder

away from any furrow
burrowing into the twilight

catching flakes on my tongue
that taste like nothing else

Chionophiles are any organisms (animals, plants, fungi, etc.) that can thrive in cold winter conditions (the word is derived from the Greek word chion meaning “snow”, and -phile meaning “lover”). These animals have specialized adaptations that help them survive the harshest winters.
Wikipedia

January 12, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Tree-hugger

With Colonel Slingsby and a friend of his, Major Waters (a deaf and most amorous melancholy gentleman, who is under a despayr in love, as the Colonel told me, which makes him bad company, though a most good-natured man), by water to Redriffe, and so on foot to Deptford (our servants by water), where we fell to choosing four captains to command the guards, and choosing the places where to keep them, and other things in order thereunto. We dined at the Globe, having our messenger with us to take care for us. Never till now did I see the great authority of my place, all the captains of the fleet coming cap in hand to us.
Having staid very late there talking with the Colonel, I went home with Mr. Davis, storekeeper (whose wife is ill and so I could not see her), and was there most prince-like lodged, with so much respect and honour that I was at a loss how to behave myself.

am I in love
alone and on foot

choosing places to care for
I see it all

a home
like I have myself

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 12 January 1660/61.

January 12, 2024January 10, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

The Moon Moves Around 1.49 Inches Away from the Earth Each Year

"The true shape of love... is absence."
                    ~ Sean Thomas Dougherty


I carry it in my arms all day, every
day. This is how I know it's more 

than its absence. Pre-emptive can mean 
that before the clock strikes the hour, 

I've lit all the lamps against darkness.  I eat
early and drink glass after glass of water 

before midnight; after, I take nothing by mouth 
for a test in the morning. It feels like there's 

a hollow in my gut. There, only the thrashing 
of branches like whips in the wind. But I keep 

returning: how can I believe silence 
only means refusal, only means a turning 

away? Remember me as more than 
a moon that drifted from your orbit.

January 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Epidemiology

Office day. This day comes news, by letters from Portsmouth, that the Princess Henrietta is fallen sick of the meazles on board the London, after the Queen and she was under sail. And so was forced to come back again into Portsmouth harbour; and in their way, by negligence of the pilot, run upon the Horse sand. The Queen and she continue aboard, and do not intend to come on shore till she sees what will become of the young Princess. This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease, one after another. This morning likewise, we had order to see guards set in all the King’s yards; and so we do appoint who and who should go to them. Sir Wm. Batten to Chatham, Colonel Slingsby and I to Deptford and Woolwich. Portsmouth being a garrison, needs none.
Dined at home, discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids. After dinner comes in Kate Sterpin (whom we had not seen a great while) and her husband to see us, with whom I staid a while, and then to the office, and left them with my wife.
At night walked to Paul’s Churchyard, and bespoke some books against next week, and from thence to the Coffeehouse, where I met Captain Morrice, the upholster, who would fain have lent me a horse to-night to have rid with him upon the Cityguards, with the Lord Mayor, there being some new expectations of these rogues; but I refused by reason of my going out of town tomorrow. So home to bed.

mouth of the queen
mouth of the horse

what will become
of the young disease

like a hat a mouth
needs content

at night in the coffeehouse
where I met a horse

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 11 January 1660/61.

January 11, 2024January 7, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Prisms

Today we take down the gilded baubles strung
          over the porch, but keep the tree up for one

more night. It's past the Feast of the Epiphany,
        but there's always a pilgrimage being made

somewhere. Where do you find the bell's missing 
        tongue, its brass compass; the bird that a high wind 

swung out of a tree? I've always loved looking at
        stained glass windows, but then we stopped going

to church in the time of the plague. How light sought
        the brilliance of other colors in order to tell a fuller

story: the blue-edged hem of the woman's skirt, 
        the bud of the child's mouth near her breast. Flash 

of an ankle, foot crushing without hesitation the serpent's
         blue-green head, its body a rope of silk unwinding.

January 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Inarticulate

There comes Mr. Hawley to me and brings me my money for the quarter of a year’s salary of my place under Downing that I was at sea. So I did give him half, whereof he did in his nobleness give the odd 5s. to my Jane. So we both went forth (calling first to see how Sir W. Pen do, whom I found very ill), and at the Hoop by the bridge we drank two pints of wormwood and sack. Talking of his wooing afresh of Mrs. Lane, and of his going to serve the Bishop of London.
Thence by water to Whitehall, and found my wife at Mrs. Hunt’s. Leaving her to dine there, I went and dined with my Lady, and staid to talk a while with her.
After dinner Will comes to tell me that he had presented my piece of plate to Mr. Coventry, who takes it very kindly, and sends me a very kind letter, and the plate back again; of which my heart is very glad. So to Mrs. Hunt, where I found a Frenchman, a lodger of hers, at dinner, and just as I came in was kissing my wife, which I did not like, though there could not be any hurt in it.
Thence by coach to my Uncle Wight’s with my wife, but they being out of doors we went home, where, after I had put some papers in order and entered some letters in my book which I have a mind to keep, I went with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, who we found ill still, but he do make very much of it. Here we sat a great while, at last comes in Mr. Davis and his lady (who takes it very ill that my wife never did go to see her), and so we fell to talk. Among other things Mr. Davis told us the particular examinations of these Fanatiques that are taken: and in short it is this, of all these Fanatiques that have done all this, viz., routed all the Trainbands that they met with, put the King’s life-guards to the run, killed about twenty men, broke through the City gates twice; and all this in the day-time, when all the City was in arms; are not in all about 31. Whereas we did believe them (because they were seen up and down in every place almost in the City, and had been about Highgate two or three days, and in several other places) to be at least 500. A thing that never was heard of, that so few men should dare and do so much mischief. Their word was, “The King Jesus, and the heads upon the gates.” Few of them would receive any quarter, but such as were taken by force and kept alive; expecting Jesus to come here and reign in the world presently, and will not believe yet but their work will be carried on though they do die.
The King this day came to town.

the worm in my heart
is not hurt

if I keep still
so I kill time

and never dare a word
of any art

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 10 January 1660/61.

January 10, 2024January 7, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Every Face a Face You Know

This is a poem about another dream. 
           The sweet bean curd vendors call out
in the streets. Theirs is the voice of the morning,
           the ferment of what sustains. Bicycle wheels 
scrape by on asphalt; dogs strain at their chains.
           Behind windows, flicker of giant flat screens
and the sounds of sweeping. When you were young 
           you were often told, One day you'll see, you'll 
understand. If the city is crowded with people 
            you don't know, why do you see your dead 
grandfather at every corner? You know his character-
            istic shuffle, his pink fingertips. There he is, 
asking a boy to shine his shoes. There he is, winking 
            as he buys a newspaper and a warm bun.

January 9, 2024January 17, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 1

A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. You can also browse the blog digest archive, subscribe to its RSS feed in your favorite feed reader, or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack.

The first digest of 2024 is a day late, but hopefully not a dollar short. (And yes, I know that expression dates me. I am an old.) Ten inches of snow fell and then were partly washed away again as I compiled this post today, which is quite Janus-faced: half looking back and half looking forward, half summarizing and half summoning. Let’s begin.